


resurrecting past idols for present idioms

by saltcircle (bluedreaming)



Category: iKON (Kpop)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fire, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7432734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/saltcircle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He smells the man before he sees him, a flickering flame in a dry forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	resurrecting past idols for present idioms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disappointed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disappointed/gifts).



> I wrote this while listening to Max Richter’s [Songs From Before](https://play.spotify.com/album/1v1fuOZBcYqCRPp1y0p9eZ). See the end of the work for more notes.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
[ ](http://vocaroo.com/i/s1cjWg1TmgQ4)   


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He has his pen out, the metal nib gliding over paper in a flurry of words that paint the green of the leaves, the smell of moss, crushed beneath his feet only to spring back up behind him. The lichen on the bark of the trees he's passing is gold, leaving it behind him he walks north.  
  
Flips a page.  
  
The pen keeps flowing over the paper, the words a by-product of his thoughts, the scratching such a natural part of his auditory landscape that he only hears the scrape of flint when it's almost upon him.  
  
A figure steps out between the trees, flicking fire in his hands. It's a lighter, the flame vermillion against the subdued shadows of the trees. Hanbin pauses, the rhythm of his steps unchanging but the words on the page falter.  
  
"Who are you?" he asks, bold. His hands are full of paper, but he's not afraid to burn.  
  
The figure, a man, stops, the flickering fire resolving into a steady flame.  
  
"Who are you?" the voice echoes, repeating lines, and Hanbin feels his fingers curling around the shaft of his pen.  
  
"A writer," he says, as a cool wind, dry and chill, wraps around the nape of his neck and pushes the flame aside. If they burn the man, he doesn't say anything.  
  
Hanbin keeps walking, but it's only once the man is out of sight that his pen finally resumes spilling words out over the paper.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The second person he meets in the woods, amidst a copse of birches, their bark pale in the muted light of a grey autumn day, is less remarkable, pale blond hair almost the same shade as the bark.  
  
"Hello," the man calls, waving as he emerges from the trees, as though he's been there all along, as though he belongs there. His smile is bright, shallow like the sun shining on a winter lake. It feels like snow.  
  
Hanbin's pen keeps flowing over the paper, the sound sharp in the stillness of the forest. After the second man disappears behind him, he smells smoke.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
[ ](http://vocaroo.com/i/s1ctzDSD4KrU)   


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It's chilly in the woods; he cups his hands as he walks, flicking the striker against the flint and holding his finger down on the fuel lever until his skin is just shy of burning, repeats. It's not that he's scared of the woods. The shadows that flicker between the tall trunks of trees, the canopy of drying leaves that filters out the sun, are just shadows.  
  
Yunhyeong should know, after all. The fear that follows him is beneath his skin, and here in the forest there are no mirrors for anything to peek out from the corners of his eyes.  
  
The moss cushions the path of his feet over the forest floor, his trajectory silent except for the flick of the lighter in his hand, and he can see the figure approaching from between the trees from a long ways off. There's a sharp scratching, crows pecking away at the an old carcass, and Yunhyeong frowns.  
  
"Who are you?" the man asks, when he finally looks up, still walking, but his pen has frozen on the page. Yunhyeong wonders what he's writing.  
  
"Who are you?" he retorts, flicking the striker again. Standing still, the flame burns higher, and doesn't singe his fingertip.  
  
"A writer," the man says, but it sounds like a word for something else, as a gust of wind presses the flame to the nail of Yungyeong's thumb. He hides his wince, starts walking again as the writer passes on by into the woods. He wonders if the notebook is the writer's mirror; wonders if he ever reads the words he writes.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The coniferous trees around him are dry in the fading of autumn, his feet sinking into cushions of pine needles, the flame still swimming between his hands. Yunhyeong wonders how much butane is left in the fuel space. It feels lighter but maybe he's just used to the weight, the feeling of something else lurking beneath his skin.  
  
When he sees the man, shock of white blond hair like a dandelion corona, seeds ready to detach and drift off with the wind, he thinks about the wicks of candles, flames reducing them to mere stumps.  
  
The man nods to him, his bearing regal as though he's strolling through a property he owns, perhaps his back garden. Yunhyeong knows for a fact that these woods belong to no one, except the Crown.  
  
When he flicks his thumb against the striker, nothing happens. The fuel is all gone, and his fingers are colder than ever, the metal body of the lighter like ice against his skin. It makes no logical sense.  
  
Yunhyeong sets it down on a rock anyway. He'll come back for it sometime.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
[ ](http://vocaroo.com/i/s1iZZbUTVqID)   


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The woods are a good place to be journeying in autumn, the air fresh and crisp, a vast ocean of trees stretched out around him. Walking along amidst the trees, Junhwe can be anyone he wants to be, can be no one at all. It's only when he meets the rare fellow wanderer that he has to put on a face.  
  
The first encounter is in a copse of trees, where Junhwe blends into the pale bark of the birches that hem him in on either side, back him up. The man holds paper in his hands, a notebook over whose creamy paper a pen draws lines of text, engraving a permanent story onto a blank space.  
  
"Hello," Junhwe calls, reaching out so that he won't be pushed back in. His smile is a mask, and the flicker in the man's eyes seems to read the invisible facade. Or maybe he's just thinking about something else.  
  
Junhwe keeps walking.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Autumn only truly sets in when the birches blur into pine trees, firs and spruces and cedars, needles thickly carpeting the ground and the wind pulling more from the dry limbs. Junhwe draws the decline in, breaths it out as satisfaction.  
  
He smells the man before he sees him, a flickering flame in a dry forest, the potential before the person. There are shadows in his eyes, and Junhwe doesn't look too closely, merely nodding as his feet sink into the pine needles, step up again. The smell fades, and somewhere behind him, he hears the sound of metal on stone.  
  
 _Clink._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
[ ](http://vocaroo.com/i/s1c4p6VIvnUe)   


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


#  **Fire breaks out, evacuation not yet necessary**

by ■■■■ ■■■■■■■. ■■■■■■■■■ ■■, 20■■   
  
  
■■■■■■■■ — A forest fire has sparked west of ■■■■■■■■. Authorities received an anonymous tip off from an unknown individual, and were able to respond quickly in an attempt to contain the fire.   
  
The flames are burning at some distance from the city; no homes or structures are being threatened by the wildfire, but the concern is that the flames will expand to the drying sections of the woods, running down a ravine where the stream has dried out due to this summer's unseasonal drought.   
  
Along with personnel from the Wildlife Service and the local Fire Department, helicopters are dropping retardant on the flames.   
  
The fire was initially estimated at ■.■ hectares and has grown to ■.■ hectares overnight.   
  
The cause of the fire has not been determined. This is the second fire in the ■■■■■■■■ area in the past two weeks.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
[ ](http://vocaroo.com/i/s1VEmJeswqFT)   


  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes:** The title is from Grayson Currin’s [review](http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/9627-songs-from-before/) of Max Richter’s Songs From Before for Pitchfork.  
>  All audio segments credited below.  
> 1\. Excerpt from [Dance Dance Dance](http://www.columbia.edu/~ey2172/murakami.html#dance) read by Robert Wyatt for Flowers For Yulia on Max Richter’s [Songs From Before](http://www.deutschegrammophon.com/en/cat/4793314).  
> 2\. Excerpt from [Norweigian Wood](http://bit.ly/229NfjJ) read by Robert Wyatt for Harmonium on Max Richter’s [Songs From Before](http://www.deutschegrammophon.com/en/cat/4793314).  
> 3\. Excerpt from [South of the Border, West of the Sun](http://bit.ly/1VtXgYQ) read by Robert Wyatt for Time Passing on Max Richter’s [Songs From Before](http://www.deutschegrammophon.com/en/cat/4793314).  
> 4\. Excerpt from [South of the Border, West of the Sun](http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/115373560) read by Robert Wyatt for Lullaby on Max Richter’s [Songs From Before](http://www.deutschegrammophon.com/en/cat/4793314).  
> 5\. Excerpt from [Sputnik Sweetheart](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/223694) read by Robert Wyatt for Verses on Max Richter’s [Songs From Before](http://www.deutschegrammophon.com/en/cat/4793314).  
> 
> 
> Originally posted for [round one of exchangekon](http://exchangekon.livejournal.com/2162.html).


End file.
